


home is wherever i'm with you

by buckydarling



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, based on a fucking tumblr post, this is literally 6k of the most disgusting fluff i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckydarling/pseuds/buckydarling
Summary: Five times Race asked Spot to come over and one time he asked him to come home.





	home is wherever i'm with you

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this for weeks and tonight i saw waitress and have FEELINGS and went home and finished the whole thing
> 
> i love this prompt
> 
> notes are stupid
> 
> enjoy

I .

 

The lecture hall was full when Spot arrived, much to his disdain; most of the rows only had one or two empty seats, and none on the aisles. It was his own fault, really, for being late. He’d grossly underestimated the amount of time he could sleep in, especially for a lecture this size. That, combined with the fact that he hadn’t had any coffee yet, and Spot was almost tempted to turn around and walk right out of the class. The professor had already started teaching, though, so with a silent groan Spot hiked up the stairs to the second-to-last row and grumbled _sorry’s_ and _excuse me’s_ as he clambered over people to get to a seat, plopping his backpack down and giving the wall across the room a hard glare.

 

Pulling out his notebook, Spot flipped to the most recent page and noticed pretty quickly that he’d missed a few of the Powerpoint slides. As if reading his thoughts, the professor announced: “Remember, this is _vital information_ that I’ve just finished covering, and I won’t be going over it again. You’ll need this for our next test.” Cursing under his breath, Spot fiddled with his pen, glancing around until his eyes landed on a blond-haired guy sitting next to him, one earbud in and head bobbing to unheard music as he scribbled in a beat-up spiral notebook.

 

Spot reached over and tapped him on the shoulder with his pen. “Can I see what I missed on the notes real quick?” he asked. The boy looked up, his eyes startling blue as they met Spot’s gaze.

 

“Sure thing,” he replied easily, sliding his notebook over to sit between them. Spot scanned the page, furrowing his brow as he scanned the almost illegible scribbles.

 

“How the fuck do you read this?” he asked incredulously, and the boy narrowed his eyes, looking almost offended that Spot would insult his absolutely _horrendous_ handwriting.

 

“I can read my _own_ handwriting, _ass,_ ” he snapped. “Anyway, I get more from my own notes than whatever you’ve got going on over there.” He leaned around to gesture at Spot’s own notebook. “What do you have, one fucking sentence per slide? How do you remember anything?”

 

Spot glared at him. “It’s called good note-taking skills and a decent memory, _tonto,_ ” he hissed.

 

The boy rolled his eyes. “Look, do you want to use my notes or not?” Spot grumbled something inaudible, but leaned over the notebook, squinting at each word before writing the information in his own notes. The boy glanced at his phone, changing the song, and Spot noticed the art of a familiar album cover out of the corner of his eye. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“You listen to the Orwells?” he asked, and the boy nodded, his expression changing to one of pleasant surprise.

 

“Yeah, they’re one of my favorite bands,” he answered. “I didn’t know anyone else that listened to them.” Spot shrugged, finishing with the boy’s notes and sliding the notebook back towards him as he leaned over to see what song he was listening to.

 

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” he remarked, and the boy grinned.

 

“Wanna listen?” he offered, holding up his other earbud. Spot considered for a moment, then took the earbud and put it in, letting the familiar notes of the song fill his ear as he allowed himself to tune out the professor in the background.

 

“I’m Race,” the boy introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake, and Spot took it with a little scoff.

 

“The fuck kind of a name is _Race?_ ” he asked, and Race rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s a _nickname,_ ass. My real name’s Antonio. I just like Race better,” he explained. They dropped the handshake. “Old nickname from middle school. What’s your name?”

 

Spot hesitated for a moment. “...Spot,” he admitted defeatedly, face burning a little at the snort Race stifled.

 

“You go around calling yourself _Spot,_ and you make fun of _my_ name?” he asked. “What’s your real name?”

 

“That’s for me to know,” Spot answered easily, “and you to find out.” Race scoffed.

 

“Alright then, be that way,” he muttered, glancing back up to the front. “Shit. We just missed a whole slide.”

 

Spot cursed under his breath. “Welp. Hope that wasn’t important.”

 

They didn’t talk much for the rest of class, scribbling notes down and occasionally reaching over to Race’s phone to skip songs they didn’t like. Gradually, Spot noticed himself getting closer and closer to Race until the legs of their chairs were pressed together, shoulders brushing as they leaned over their notebooks with the phone between them.

 

The end of class reached them sooner than Spot thought it would, and he felt almost a pang of regret when he and Race had to pack up their stuff. Before he could even open his mouth to say - he didn’t even know what he would say, but it felt like a goodbye - Race reached over and snatched Spot’s phone from his backpack pocket, grabbing Spot’s hand and using his thumb to unlock the device. Spot spluttered indignantly.

 

“What the hell--” he exclaimed, watching Race’s thumbs fly across the keyboard. Race grinned, handing the phone back before Spot had even had time to reach for it.

 

“Now my number’s in there,” he explained, looking a little sheepish. “You should come over sometime, go over the material with me. I need a study partner.”

 

Spot blinked once to process everything before smiling, shooting Race a string of emojis via text. “Sounds like a plan, _Antonio,_ ” he smirked, turning to leave the almost-empty lecture hall.

 

Race scoffed, hurrying after him. “That is _not fair,_ you ass, you can’t just not tell me your real name!”

  
  


II.

 

A fat raindrop from the dark gray sky landed smack in the middle of Spot’s head, the sudden cold causing him to jump. He let out a low string of curses as more raindrops began to fall, tugging the hood of the sweatshirt over his head and hurrying back towards his dorm building. A wind swept across campus; November had officially arrived.

 

He rolled his eyes as a group of girls in crop tops and tiny skirts sprinted by, shrieking as they hurried to get out of the rain. On their way to some concert or party, Spot was sure; it was Friday night, and most students had some sort of plans. Spot was normally fine with not having anything to do (Race liked to joke that Spot’s picture sat next to the dictionary definition of “introvert”) but with the gloomy weather and the cold season coming on, Spot was starting to feel the effects of seasonal depression, and he knew he could use some company. His roommate was on some club trip like most weekends, so the dorm would be empty.

 

It was fine, he reasoned. He could turn on some of the fairy lights Mush had gotten him a few months back and play some reality show on Netflix, and go to bed early. He’d see people in the morning for breakfast.

 

He couldn’t help but shrink a little despite himself, though, when he opened the door to his dorm room. The gloomy afternoon light coming through the half-open window shade painted the room in shadow, like everything had been washed in grayscale, and the honking horns and cacophony of the city outside only served to further highlight just how quiet the room was. Sighing, Spot kicked off his shoes and clambered onto his bed, already giving up on his plans of television as he flopped over and stared blankly at the opposite wall.

 

As if on cue, the rain picked up in earnest.

 

Spot was dozing on and off, dissociating more and more by the second, when his phone let out a bright chirp that could have only belonged to one person. Grabbing it from where it sat on the nightstand, Spot opened the text from Race, a small smile creeping onto his face.

 

**Racer: what are u doing rn**

 

**Racer: *tn**

 

**Racer: right now or tonight same thing**

 

Spot snorted a little as he typed out a reply.

 

**Spot: nothing**

 

**Spot: lying on my bed and staring at the wall like every friday night**

 

Spot frowned. That had sounded more depressing than he’d wanted it to. Before he could shrug it off, a new text popped in from Race.

 

**Racer: man way to be a downer**

 

**Racer: want to come over? I have netflix AND hulu ;)**

 

**Spot: it’s raining and i don’t have a rain jacket**

 

**Racer: no problemo. I’ll come get u**

 

**Racer: i have a giant umbrella**

 

**Racer: unless you don’t want to ofc i completely get it**

 

Spot smiled.

 

**Spot: no i want to i just feel bad making you walk**

 

**Racer: i wouldn’t have offered if i didn’t want to**

 

**Racer: be there in ten minutes**

 

Spot pushed himself off the bed, pulling his shoes back on and exchanging his hoodie for a clean one before walking down to the dorm lobby. Race was already there, wearing a crewneck sweatshirt with the university logo and holding a dripping umbrella.

 

“Ready?” he asked with a grin, and Spot nodded, standing in the doorway with Race as he opened the umbrella and then following him outside into the rain.

 

After two minutes or so of walking, Race glanced over at him. “Dude, I don’t bite.”

 

Spot looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “Huh?” he asked. Race smiled.

 

“You’re practically skirting the edge of the umbrella. The whole point is to be _out_ of the rain, you know,” Race teased, and Spot shoved him lightly.

 

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he moved closer, their shoulders bumping. Race was warm, and he smelled like shampoo, like he’d just showered. Race grinned, switching the hand holding the umbrella and sliding his arm around Spot’s shoulders.

 

“See? This is fun,” he decided, and Spot snorted.

 

“So what movie were you thinking?” he asked, and Race’s eyes lit up as he went on about some animated film that had won a ton of awards. Spot trained his gaze on Race’s face, feeling a sort of tug in his chest that he wasn’t sure about the meaning of yet; but it was warm and light and not unpleasant, so Spot decided to let it go. Instead, he allowed himself to lean into Race’s side just a little more, just short of leaning his head on Race’s shoulder as they walked.

 

Maybe it was cheesy, but walking through the rain with Race under that stupid umbrella, Spot felt happier than he had all day.

  
  


III.

 

Spot had been successfully avoiding Race for almost a week when his friend finally texted him.

 

**Racer: are you mad at me**

 

**Spot: no i told you i just have a lot going on**

 

**Spot: classes and shit**

 

**Racer: bullshit.**

 

**Racer: i know you were out with jack and blink last night**

 

**Racer: if i did something to make you hate me at least tell me instead of lying about it**

 

Spot bit his lip, feeling his chest twist with guilt.

 

**Spot: i don’t hate you why would i hate you**

 

**Racer: i don’t know.**

 

**Racer: but it feels like you do.**

 

**Racer: can you come over? Please? So we can talk?**

 

**Spot: yeah. I’ll be there in ten minutes**

 

The realization that he was falling head-over-heels for his best friend had been terrifying for Spot, to say the least. He couldn’t even place when it had started, really; just that one day he’d found himself looking at Race and suddenly suppressing the uncontrollable urge to kiss him or hold him or even just hold his fucking hand, and it wouldn’t go away. Spot noticed everything about Race until he consumed every waking thought, and he couldn’t even be in the same room as his best friend without turning red and stumbling over his words. Which wasn’t like Spot _at all._

 

So naturally, the best - and only - course of action was to avoid him at all costs.

 

Maybe it was better this way, Spot thought miserably as he walked to Race’s apartment. Better to lose your best friend by cutting him off and making him hate you than to reveal your huge, all-consuming crush on him and ruin everything. The thought of losing Race, if Spot was being completely honest with himself, absolutely crushed him; he and Race had been friends now for almost two years and been labeling themselves as best friends for almost as long, and the idea of just _not_ having Race in his life terrified him to no end. But the reality was that Spot had been falling long and hard for Race for almost a year, and he couldn’t see a way out of the problem that didn’t end in misery or heartbreak or both.

 

When he knocked on Race’s apartment door, no one answered, but Spot’s phone buzzed with a text.

 

**Racer: it’s unlocked**

 

Filled with a pooling sense of dread, Spot opened the door and walked in to find Race sitting on the couch, staring down at his hands. Neither of them said anything; Spot hovered awkwardly for a moment, contemplating sprinting back out into the hallway, before closing the door behind him and moving into the living room.

 

“Hi,” he said quietly, not sitting down. Race laughed.

 

“That’s what you say after a week of pretending your best friend doesn’t exist? After avoiding him like the fucking plague?” he asked bitterly. “‘ _Hi’?”_

 

Spot floundered, not knowing what to say. “I--” he started, but Race cut him off.

 

“Forget it,” he said. “What did I expect you to say? I don’t even know.” He finally looked up, and the steely anger in his eyes slipped to reveal a hurt that tore Spot to shreds. “You can sit down, you know,” Race spat. “I’m not contagious, despite the fact that you seem to think I am.”

 

Spot sat down hard on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m sorry,” he managed, voice barely above a whisper, and it sounded so _pathetic_ that Spot almost laughed at himself. Race sighed.

 

“Sorry for _what?_ ” he asked sadly. “That’s really what I want to know. What did I do that you feel the need to make excuses and avoid seeing me at all for an entire _week_ ?” His voice cracked his a little, and Spot squeezed his eyes shut, the sound like a knife to his chest. “Look,” Race continued, “I’m not gonna force you to be friends with me if that’s not what you want anymore. Just tell me what I _did._ ”

 

Spot shook his head. “That’s not what this is about,” he said, the words forced out like they wanted to stay crowded inside his chest forever. “This isn’t about you, I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

 

“Then what the fuck is it about?!” Race cried, standing up from the couch. His voice softened just a touch. “Look, I’d get it if it was some personal problem or issue you couldn’t talk about. I would.” He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Call me close-minded, but I can’t see _any_ scenario where a personal problem would require you to avoid me for a week but still let you go out for drinks with Jack and Blink like nothing is the fucking matter.”

 

“So maybe it is!” burst Spot, shooting up from the couch to face Race. “Maybe it is a personal problem, and maybe it’s _really_ fucking _selfish_ and maybe it makes me a terrible person but it’s not _you._ It’s not, I swear,” he rambled, his voice betraying him and wobbling with the beginnings of tears, “ _I_ can’t see any scenario where you’d do something to make me hate you.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Race asked weakly. “Just _tell_ me, you know I wouldn’t hold it against you, I’m supposed to be your best friend--”

 

Spot let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, no, you’d hate me,” he quavered, his voice threatening to break. Race moved closer.

 

“Why?” he questioned, gaze locked on Spot’s and filled with uncertainty. “What is is that has you so convinced that I’d hate you?” He laughed bitterly. “What,” he continued, his voice getting louder, “kind of _coward are you_ that you can’t tell me to my face what the fuck is going on? Why can’t you just admit that you hate me and get it ov--”

 

Impulsively, Spot shot forward, kissing Race hard enough that he staggered back a little. Spot’s eyes were shut, but he could feel Race flail with his arms out of shock, mouth warm and pliant. Spot pulled back before he could react. He opened his eyes, looking down at the floor as his heart dropped.

 

“That’s what I couldn’t tell you,” he bit out defeatedly, feeling like he was sinking into the floor. “And yeah, I am a coward. Sorry it had to be this way that you found out.” He looked up at last, finding Race’s face full of disbelief and confusion, and the dread cemented itself in his stomach.

 

“Spot--” Race started, but Spot shook his head, backing towards the door.

 

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry.” He turned and hurried towards the door, only for Race to launch forward and grab his wrist in one hand.

 

“Spot, _wait--_ ”

 

Race yanked him back so quickly that Spot tripped over the leg of the coffee table and stumbled into Race’s chest, sending them both sprawling to the floor. Spot found himself lying practically on top of Race, propped up on both hands where he’d caught himself, and before he could move or say anything Race put a hand on the back of his neck and tugged him down.

 

Race kissed like he had something to prove, and maybe he did. His mouth was hot and insistent on Spot’s, his hand twisting in the hair at the back of Spot’s neck, and Spot’s brain took a second to catch up before he reciprocated, still propped up on his hands overtop of Race. He couldn’t say how long they kissed, Spot’s palms digging into the seams of the floor and his head dizzy with the sensation of Race’s mouth on his.

 

Finally, the rational part of his brain seemed to catch up and scream, _we don’t know what’s happening!_ and the thought was enough to jolt Spot out of it. He pulled away with a ragged gasp, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. Race met his eyes, blue eyes almost black with pupils blown wide, both of them breathing hard.

 

“So, uh,” Race said slowly, his chest heaving as he pushed himself up on his arms into a sitting position, Spot still practically straddling him, “I don’t hate you.”

 

Spot couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest, shaking his head. Race smiled that soft smile he seemed to save just for Spot, one of his hands coming to rest on Spot’s hip, and Spot swore what breath he had left was stolen from him. He leaned in and kissed Race sweetly, bringing a shaky hand up to cautiously cradle the side of Race’s jaw and earning himself a soft sigh from Race as a reward. Race tilted his head to the side, opening his mouth into the kiss and bringing his hand up to cover Spot’s where it rested on his face, and if that didn’t make Spot just _melt._

 

Spot moved with caution, kissed slow and careful because he still wasn’t sure that this was real; he was half convinced that he’d open his eyes and find that everything was a hallucination and Race would hate him. Yet here he was, Race’s hand on his hip and his hair brushing Spot’s forehead and their noses bumping together as they kissed softly between breaths, smiling softly and each handling the other like they were something precious.

 

Spot pulled back just a little, running a thumb over Race’s lips and smiling when Race hummed softly, leaning into the touch like a cat and closing his eyes.

 

“Go on a date with me?” Spot asked quietly, his nerves betrayed by the subtle quaver in his voice. “Dinner?” He didn’t know why he was so nervous, seeing as he and Race had just been making out on the living room floor, but his stomach still twisted with anxiety.

 

If Race’s blinding smile wasn’t enough of an answer, the eagerness with which he leaned in to kiss Spot again gave it all away.

  
  
  


IV.

“I’m telling you, Kelly, I crossed the line first!”

 

“And yet,” Jack crowed, a smug smirk on his face, “Mario Kart still decided I was the winner.”

 

Spot cursed, flinging his controller down and standing up to stretch from where he’d been sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “Bullshit.” He moved to go towards the kitchen. “Anyone want a snack or something while I’m up?”

 

Blink waved a hand. “Oh! Can you grab me a few more pizza rolls?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Spot pulled his phone out of his pocket as he walked into the kitchen, absently piling a few pizza rolls onto a plate for Blink and stuffing a guac-laden chip into his own mouth. Popping the tab on a new can of Sprite, he scrolled through Twitter absently, listening to Jack and Blink bicker about what course they wanted to Race on and whether or not it was fair for Jack to put monster truck tires on his motorcycle.

 

A call popped onto his screen from Race.

 

Spot frowned. Race _never_ called him. Kicking the door to the kitchen mostly-closed with one of his feet, he answered the call. “What’s up, Tonio?” he asked in a low voice, using the affectionate nickname Race only allowed him to use.

 

 _“I just - you know what, never mind. It’s stupid. You’re hanging out with Jack and Blink, go have fun.”_ Race’s voice sounded hollow and a little shaky, and Spot furrowed his brow with concern.

 

“Tonio, you never call me. If something’s wrong, I want to know,” he said, and he heard Race sigh over the phone.

 

_“It’s not bad, it’s just - I don’t know. I’m in a funk and I’ve been weird and lonely all day and I kind of want to just not be alone and hold someone right now but it’s fine, it was stupid of me to call and worry you.”_

 

Spot put down his drink. “Do you want me to come over, Racer?”

 

Race sighed again. _“I told you it’s fine, you’re with friends--”_

 

“Race. That’s not what I asked,” Spot cut him off. “Do you _want_ me to come over?”

 

There was silence, and then Race spoke quietly. _“Yeah.”_

 

Spot took one last swig of his drink and put it down. “Alright. I’ll be there in five.”

 

 _“Okay,”_ Race said, and then after a moment: _“Thank you.”_

 

“Of course,” Spot said. “See you in a little bit.”

 

 _“Bye,_ ” Race said before hanging up the phone.

 

Spot emerged from the kitchen and handed Blink his pizza rolls. “I gotta go,” he said apologetically, and Jack looked up confusedly, pausing the game.

 

“Everything okay?” he asked, and Spot nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Racer’s having an off day, needs someone to be with him.”

 

Blink’s face softened. “You’re a good boyfriend,” he told Spot, who looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his thumbs.

 

“Just doing what anyone else would do,” he mumbled, and Jack scoffed.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on and see Race. We’ll hang out again sometime soon.”

 

Spot left the apartment and hurried over to Race’s, unlocking the door with the spare key he knew Race kept buried in the flowerpot on the landing. The apartment had some lights on when he walked in, and he found Race curled up on the couch, wrapped tightly in a hoodie that Spot recognized as his own. His eyes were shut.

 

“Hey Tonio,” Spot greeted him softly, coming over to crouch down beside the couch in front of Race and taking one of his hands. He ran a thumb over the back of Race’s hand. “You doing okay?”

 

Race opened his eyes to look down at their hands and nodded slowly. “Yeah. ‘M fine,” he whispered, but his hands shook as he spoke, and when he squeezed his eyes shut a few tears escaped and fell down his face.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Spot murmured, climbing up onto the couch and pulling Race gently into his arms. Race buried his face in Spot’s shoulder, shaking with silent sobs as Spot rubbed his hand gently up and down Race’s back, humming softly. They sat there for an indeterminable amount of time as Race cried himself out, silent except for Race’s shaky breaths and the soft words Spot would occasionally whisper into his hair.

 

Soon, Race’s crying quieted to hiccups and steadier breaths, his shaking subsiding a little as he calmed down. He grabbed one of Spot’s hands and held it between their bodies with their fingers laced together, curling up even smaller so that he was mostly in Spot’s lap. Spot bent and pressed his lips to the back of Race’s neck gently, barely a kiss so much as it was a reassurance. He kept his mouth pressed there for another moment before lifting his head and running his other hand through Race’s messy blonde curls, smiling softly as Race hummed at the touch.

 

“Hey,” Spot said softly as Race turned his head to look up at Spot, his eyes startling blue and red-rimmed from crying. Race offered a weak smile in return, playing with their joined hands absently.

 

“Hey,” he replied, tapping the fingers of his other hand in an absent rhythm on Spot’s hip where his hand rested. “Sorry about that.”

 

Spot shook his head. “Don’t even think about being sorry,” he whispered, and Race blushed, his eyes slipping shut as he squeezed Spot’s hand.

 

“You’re too good to me,” he whispered, and Spot pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

 

“Nonsense,” he said softly. “You deserve everything I can give you and more. You deserve the universe.”

 

Race let out a shaky sigh. “I love you,” he whispered after a moment of silence, the words confessed in a soft breath into Spot’s collarbone. “I don’t know if it’s too soon, or too much, but I do. I just wanted you to know.”

 

Spot’s heart skipped a few beats, stopping and restarting itself again, and he lifted Race’s chin gently off his shoulder to kiss him sweetly. “I love you,” he mumbled against Race’s lips. “I love you so much. It’s not too soon. It feels right.”

 

Race smiled softly, kissing him again before dropping his head back to Spot’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Spot rubbed his shoulder. “You tired, Tonio?” he asked, and Race nodded sleepily. “Want me to stay here with you?” Spot asked, and when Race nodded again he shifted his arms to cradle Race and lifted him carefully, standing up off the couch. Race hummed, wrapping his arms gently around Spot’s neck as Spot carried him to bed, setting him down before toeing off his socks and climbing in beside him.

 

Under the blankets, Race rolled over and kissed Spot once more before curling into him, tangling their legs together. “Night,” he mumbled. “Love you.”

 

Spot hummed happily, kissing the top of Race’s head and throwing an arm over his waist to pull him closer. “Love you too,” he murmured, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

  
  


V.

 

“And that’s the story of how I tried to get a cab to a restaurant three blocks away and ended up in another country,” Spot finished, nodding at the screen with satisfaction.

 

On the slightly pixelated Skype screen, Race threw his head back with laughter, spinning once in his desk chair. _“Oh my god,”_ he cackled, shaking his head. _“Wish I’d been there to see that.”_

 

“Yeah, me too,” Spot said, a touch of melancholy coloring his voice, and Race’s face softened as he leaned forward, resting his chin on top of his folded arms on the desk.

 

 _“I miss you,”_ he said. _“Three months is a long time.”_ Spot nodded.

 

“Yeah, it is. I think I underestimated just how long it would feel,” he said. “I miss you too.”

 

Race shrugged. _“You’ll have to come over the moment you get back and tell me everything,”_ he said. “ _One more week, right? We can do it.”_

 

Spot nodded, smiling to himself. “Yeah. One more week.” He looked up. “Hey, my prof is calling us. I’m gonna be in the countryside without service again, so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

 

Race nodded. _“Okay. Have fun.”_ He smiled. _“I love you._ ”

 

Spot grinned stupidly. “I love you too. Bye.”

 

Spot was not, in fact, going into the countryside. He was sitting in an airport cafe, waiting to grab his flight back from Spain to New York after three months minus one week in a study abroad program. They’d finished up the academic portion earlier than expected; rather than staying with the other students in the program to sightsee for a week, Spot had opted to grab an early flight home and surprise Race and the rest of his friends.

 

The captain called for the passengers in his group to board, so Spot shut his laptop down and slid it into his backpack, shouldering it and walking towards the gate.

 

Eight hours and forty five minutes until he was back in the United States. Almost nine hours until he saw Race again.

 

The flight touched down around seven in the evening, New York time. Spot took his phone off of airplane mode to find a few texts from Race.

 

**Racer: hope you have a good day**

 

**Racer: i know you can’t see this but i wanted to text you anyway**

 

**Racer: i’ll be home all evening so call me later if you can?**

 

Spot grinned, opting not to reply and hailing a cab in front of the airport. He gave the cabbie Race’s address and sat back to put in his earbuds, playing his and Race’s favorite song and closing his eyes as the cab pulled out of JFK.

 

Pulling up to the apartment, Spot grinned excitedly, paying the cab driver extra and dashing into the lobby. He drummed his fingers on his leg the whole elevator ride up, the anticipation of seeing Race after three months buzzing under his skin like electricity. Arriving on Race’s floor, he practically ran to the door, taking a picture of the outside and texting it to Race.

 

**Spot: can you open up? my key is still in my suitcase.**

 

From inside the apartment, five seconds passed before he heard a loud _“What the FUCK”_ and a series of thumps. The door slammed open to reveal Race in a t-shirt and sweatpants, wide-eyed and messy-haired, and it was the most beautiful thing Spot had ever seen.

 

He smiled apologetically, shrugging his shoulders. “Surprise?”

 

Letting out a choked noise that sounded half like a sob, Race grabbed Spot by the front of the shirt and yanked him inside, shoving the door closed before slamming Spot against the back of it and kissing him fiercely. Spot shuddered, melting into the kiss and winding his arms around Race’s neck. Race pressed them flush together from shoulders to hips, keeping Spot pinned against the door and barely breaking the kiss for air.  

 

“You _asshole,_ ” Race gasped against Spot’s mouth between kisses, “you absolute _bastard,_ I hate you so much.” Spot’s laugh was swallowed as Race kissed him again, eliciting a low groan. Race pulled back again, this time reaching up to frame Spot’s face with both hands.

 

“You’re here,” he breathed, running a thumb over Spot’s cheek. “You’re real.”

 

Spot smiled. “Last time I checked, yeah.” Race snorted with laughter, gazing at him fondly, and Spot leaned in to kiss him again, drawing it out and winding his fingers into Race’s hair. Race _whined,_ grinding his hips down from where he had Spot pinned against the door, and Spot kissed him harder, breaking off with a ragged gasp.

 

“Bedroom,” he managed, shoving Race in the direction of the hallway, and Race gave him a wicked grin that made him go weak in the knees, tugging him away from the door.

 

Race tugged off Spot’s shirt in one fluid motion before yanking off his own, shoving them both backward onto the mattress. Spot leaned up and kissed him slowly, placing a hand on the back of Race’s neck. “Missed you,” he murmured, and Race smiled, kissing the underside of his jaw.

 

“Missed you too,” he sighed, moving down to Spot’s neck and kissing there. “Love you so much.”

 

“Love you, Tonio,” Spot breathed, and then Race bit down on his neck and pressed him into the mattress and Spot’s mind went utterly, blissfully blank.

  
  


+1.

 

The morning after Race’s birthday, Spot woke up to sunlight streaming through the blinds, well-rested and sore in places he smirked thinking about. Stretching, he checked the time on his phone, noting that he had class in an hour and a half, and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

 

Race’s side of the bed (since when had it become Race’s side? It was Race’s bed, after all) was empty, but Spot could hear him in the kitchen, humming to their playlist as he clattered around with pots and pans. Smiling fondly, Spot pulled on one of Race’s soft sweatshirts and his own sweatpants before emerging from Race’s room, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

 

Race was wearing a too-large t-shirt and old basketball shorts, frying eggs as morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen. Spot sidled up behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist, nudging the collar of his shirt aside and pressing a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder. “Morning,” he greeted him, and Race smiled, turning off the stove and spinning in Spot’s arms to kiss the bridge of his nose.

 

“Morning,” he replied. “You’ve got Brit Lit in a few hours, right?” Spot nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he said, humming as Race’s hands came to rest on his chest. “I’ve got time for breakfast, though.”

 

Race smiled. “That’s good! I made eggs _and_ bacon.” Spot raised an eyebrow.

 

“Color me impressed, Higgins,” he teased, “seems like you’ve really got it together.” Race scoffed, pushing him away.

 

“Don’t patronize me and start the coffeemaker, ass.”

 

They lingered over breakfast, holding hands over the table and discussing everything from their plans to stay in the city over break to the pair of tickets Jack and Davey had pitched in to get Race for his birthday. The bustle of the city below settled into a rhythm, Race and Spot moving around each other with ease as they cleaned up their dishes, and everything felt so good and _normal_ that it made something in Spot’s chest a little tight.

 

He showered quickly and got dressed for class, so many of his clothes scattered around Race’s room that he didn’t have to bother going home to find an outfit. His backpack was by the door where he’d left it the evening before when he’d gone to  Race’s after class to celebrate with a birthday dinner and drinks with friends, so Spot slung it over his shoulder and prepared to leave. Race wandered out of the hall, freshly showered as well and wearing a clean sweatshirt.

 

“Bye,” he said simply, leaning in and kissing Spot goodbye deeply enough that he almost swooned. Spot pulled back with a breathless smile.

 

“What was that for?” he asked teasingly, to which Race just grinned bashfully.

 

“Dunno. I just love you,” he said, and Spot felt the now-familiar butterflies erupt in his chest that always seemed to show up even after he and Race had been dating for almost two years. He wasn’t sure they’d ever go away, and as he kissed Race again Spot decided he was just fine with that.

 

“I love you too,” he said, opening the door and preparing to leave. “Are you free the rest of the afternoon after class?”

 

Race nodded. “Sure thing. Just come home right after and I’ll be here.” He pecked Spot on the lips once more before shoving him gently out the door. “You’re gonna be late. Go.”

 

Spot made it halfway down the hall towards the elevators before he froze.

 

Come home, Race had said. Not come over. Come _home._

 

A stupid grin stretched across Spot’s face, so wide he was almost dizzy with it. Ditching all thoughts of going to class (he’d have Mush send him the notes,) Spot sprinted back down the hall to Race’s apartment door and knocked without stopping until Race opened it.

 

“Did you forget someth-- _mmph,_ ” Race started to ask before being cut off as Spot kissed him deeply, wrapping both arms around his neck. Race laughed as they broke apart, wrapping both arms around Spot’s waist loosely as he eased the door closed behind them. “Now look who’s being a sap,” he teased gently. “Whatever was that for? You’re gonna miss your class.”

 

"You said come home,” Spot said breathlessly, too full of love and other happy feelings to care about anything else. “You always ask me to come over but you said come _home._ ” Race’s face turned white then immediately bright red, and his arms loosened from around Spot’s waist, his body tense.

 

“I--oh. Did I? I did, didn’t I?” he stammered. “I didn’t mean, -- no, of course I meant it, I just didn’t mean to say-- I don’t know. I shouldn’t have assumed. This place doesn’t have to be home, I mean, it’s kind of shitty and the ceiling leaks and there’s that weird stain in the bathroom--”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Tonio,” Spot said with a soft smile, bringing one of his hands down to cradle Race’s face, “you idiot. Home isn’t a stupid apartment, home is _you._ ”

 

Spot barely had time to think about how goddamn _sappy_ that had sounded before Race was kissing him, holding Spot close like he was something treasured and nudging their noses together and smiling so much they almost couldn’t kiss each other at all, and--

 

\--and, yeah, Spot thought. This was home.

  


**Author's Note:**

> kUDOS AND COMMENTS MAKE ME SO HAPPY
> 
> tumblr: hispanicjackkelly


End file.
